


The Horizontal Man

by mydogwatson



Series: Postcard Tales II [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Sherlock and his sofa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7293328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man can see a lot if he is the right place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horizontal Man

**Author's Note:**

> Frankly a bit in shock today, because of RL. WTF were they thinking in Britain?  
> Never mind. Maybe a bit of Sherlock will help.
> 
> Hope you like!

It was not random.

There was a logical reason why the sofa was placed just where it was and also why he reclined on it so often. John thought he was usually just being lazy, Mycroft considered him odd [which was completely ridiculous because… _Mycroft_ ] and Lestrade called him a stubborn arse. And perhaps all of that was true, to some extent. But there was more.

The fact was that a man could see a lot, learn a lot, if he just stretched out on the sofa, pyramided his hands thoughtfully, and watched. Sometimes it felt as if the entire world, or at least the important bits of that world, passed before him.

Mrs Hudson often bustled around the flat, pointing out that she was not their housekeeper as she tidied and dusted and complained about whatever experiment he had on the go. She was also his provider of neighbourhood gossip, which he only pretended not to care about. More than occasionally, she slipped in a few comments about John. How nice he was. How good-looking. How happy she was that Sherlock had such a good friend. She always put that special emphasis on the word ‘friend’ and gave him a look.

Hudders was such a funny old lady.

 

Sometimes Mycroft came round, getting irritated when Sherlock would refuse to stir from his place on the sofa. He would sit in John’s chair, which was annoying [and that was precisely why he did it, of course], glare at Sherlock and drone on about things in which Sherlock had no interest at all, but which he filed away all the same, because you never knew. Eventually, Mycroft would reach into his attaché case, remove a file, and hold it out towards Sherlock, who would refuse to take it. After a silent standoff, Mycroft would sigh, drop the file on the coffee table and take his leave, making some pompous comment about duty or something equally fatuous as he went. 

Without stirring from his spot, Sherlock would reach out one arm and pick up the file. When, a few days later, the inevitable call came from Mycroft, Sherlock would give him the answer to the problem. After first extracting some kind of favour in return naturally. Because a certain amount of discretion was necessary if they were going to get along at all, neither of them mentioned the fact that lately a number of those favours had actually been for John.

 

Whenever Lestrade came into the flat and saw him on the sofa, he would smirk in that obnoxious way he had. “So, you doing that thinking thing again?” he would say, as if it were some kind of parlour trick. Usually Sherlock just ignored him, but sometimes he would tartly recommend that ‘thinking’ as a policy was something that the Yard might want to adopt. Not that anyone down there would be very good at it. Lestrade would usually chuckle at that, although Sherlock had not been joking. 

“So think you can stir your arse off that sofa long enough to help me with a case?” Lestrade would say finally.

Sherlock always wanted to reply that ‘help’ was the wrong word, when what he actually did was solve the cases, but he couldn’t be bothered. Instead, he would just wave a careless hand as a demand for Lestrade to give him the details.

Which the inspector would do, finishing with, “So, will you come?”

The reply was never rushed. But finally Sherlock would nod and agree to come to the scene. As soon as John came in from his trip to Tesco. Or from wherever the annoying man had taken himself this time.

Lestrade, for some reason, would smirk at that and leave.

 

Of course, the best thing about his prone position on the sofa was that it was the perfect place from which to watch John. He could [and did] spend hours just observing his flatmate/friend/colleague. Not that John ever really did anything very important or interesting. He made the tea and washed up fairly regularly. He typed [painfully slowly] new posts for his blog and answered emails from people that Sherlock didn’t know, which was something the detective was not sure he really approved of. John also watched crap telly and read crap books.

Sometimes John fell asleep in his chair. His head would fall back against the cushion and his face would be smoothed, making him look more like the age he actually was. Also, he often made tiny little sounds as he slept, not really snores, but definitely there.

Sherlock knew that it was completely ridiculous, but he never tired of watching John. He occasionally thought that maybe he watched so much because he was storing up the memories for when John was no longer there. When that day came, when John met the right woman or maybe just wearied of the maelstrom that constituted life in 221B, at least Sherlock would have all of these moments tucked safely into in his Mind Palace.

He did think, though, that he might have to get rid of the sofa.

**Author's Note:**

> Title From: The Horizontal Man by Helen Eustis


End file.
